


Big Brother

by Cusp_of_Sensitivity



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Break Up, Chair Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Lapdance, Past Relationship(s), Porn With Plot, Strip Club Sex, Strippers & Strip Clubs, sex under the influence of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 04:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17573873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cusp_of_Sensitivity/pseuds/Cusp_of_Sensitivity
Summary: When his high school sweetheart, Constance, breaks up with him, D’artagnan finds comfort in the most unexpected place.





	Big Brother

The city lights of Paris lit up the night sky as D’artagnan turned the corner to head up the hill going to Monmartre, the noise of the crowd looking for every form of vice assaulting his ears. He ignored the street hustlers as he hiked up the incline, keeping his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as they tried to thrust ads for everything from drugs to sex shows at him. He cursed himself for not changing out of his tracksuit emblazoned with the logo of the Garrison, one of France’s top military academies. It made him an easy mark. He should have gone home and changed, but he had stayed late at fencing practice, burning off some of his aggression by sparring against Professor d’Essarts, and thus there had been no time.

He didn’t want to be out here, but he’d promised Athos that he would meet him at La Succube, the strip club owned by the uncle of their friend Aramis. If it were up to D’artagnan, he would be at home, working his way through a bottle of his family’s best Armagnac and trying to forget the crushing pain in his chest. It had come this afternoon, when Constance, the girl he’d gone steady with since his sophomore year of high school, the one who’d followed him from Lupiac to Paris, where she’d enrolled in ESMOD, France’s most prestigious school of fashion design, at the same time he’d been accepted to the Garrison, had told him in the middle of the Tuileries Gardens, their favorite spot, that she wanted to break up.

She’d given him all the classic break up lines: that they were too young to get married, that they hadn’t had a chance to experience what the world outside Lupiac had to offer, that it was her, not him, and that maybe they should see other people. D’artagnan had countered every argument she made, promising to do whatever she wanted to make things better until, finally, she blurted out the truth: that their sex life wasn’t that great, that she’d never actually orgasmed with him, and that she’d only pretended to enjoy it because she cared about him and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. D’artagnan still felt the body blow even though he knew she was right. He’d seen the discomfort on her face as she tried to accommodate his size when he entered her, and no matter what positions they tried, his vigorous thrusts had caused more whimpers than moans of pleasure. And then there was the mess. Most condoms didn’t fit him, and the ones that did broke during climax, leaving cum everywhere and causing Constance to jump out of bed to clean up. So, much as he hated to admit it, it was probably for the best that they broke up.

Before he left the gym, he’d tried calling his younger sister, Dominique, to let her know the bad news. Dominique always knew the right thing to say to cheer him up when he was down. She was his best friend, and when she’d joined the Garrison two years after him, to study military intelligence, they’d gotten an apartment together. Dominique answered cheerfully, expressing sympathy when he told her what happened with Constance, but since she’d just gotten to her job as a cocktail waitress at one of the other clubs in Monmartre, she had to get off the phone, but promised that the two of them would talk when she got home. D’artagnan hung up the phone, feeling at least a little better, and went to go meet Athos.

D’artagnan nodded at the doorman, whose name tag read Serge, as he entered the club. His eyes adjusted to the darkened foyer and he went through the curtain to the main floor of the club. Loud music assaulted his ears as he scanned the club looking for a familiar face, and smiled when he spotted Porthos, who worked at the club as a bouncer. He went over to where the other man stood, watching the club patrons.

“Where’s Athos?” he asked, pitching his voice over the music.

“Over at the bar,” Porthos replied, pointing him in the direction he needed to go.

D’artagnan signaled his thanks and headed over to where his childhood friend was, and as he got closer, he could see Athos chatting amiably to Aramis, who was working behind the bar. Athos spotted him and waved him over, moving his coat from the seat next to him, which he had been saving for his friend.

“Luca,” Athos said warmly as D’artagnan sat down next to him, “glad you could finally join us here.”

“Luca?” Aramis asked as he set up glasses for the next drink order. “I thought your name was Charles.”

“It is,” D’artagnan explained as he watched Aramis make the drinks, “but there are seven Charles in my family, so most of us are called by our middle names.” He was about to say something but was interrupted by a new arrival at the bar.

“Aramis,” the well-dressed man said, “I need you to cut off table five. They’ve had more than enough.”

“Of course,” Aramis said, placing the completed drinks on the bar for pick up. “And since you’re here, let me introduce you. D’artagnan, meet my uncle, Jean Treville, owner of this fine establishment. Uncle Jean, this is my friend D’artgnan, the one I’ve been telling you about.” Having performed the introduction, Aramis looked back and forth between the two men expectantly.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, D’artagnan,” Treville said warmly, extending his hand. “Aramis has told me a lot of good things about you.”

“Thank you,” D’artagnan replied, taking the proffered hand. “This is quite the place you have here.” He made sure to keep his eyes on the older man instead of the voluptuous women removing their clothes for the male patrons.

“I hope you’ll enjoy yourself while you’re here,” Treville said with a smile, every inch the gracious host.

“We were hoping to get him a private dance,” Athos said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “His girlfriend just dumped him.”

“That’s a shame,” Treville said, shaking his head in commiseration. “Fortunately, we have something to fix that. It’s Aramis’ latest concoction. He calls it the Heart Mender.”

Treville nodded at Aramis, who nodded back and went to work making the cocktail. D’artagnan watched as Aramis poured different liquors into the shaker, stirring them with a carefulness that struck the younger man as a little odd, then strained it into a chilled martini glass and placed it in front of his friend. D’artagnan picked up his glass to take a sip, but he paused as something in it caught his eye. The drink was crystal clear with two swirls, one blue and the other pink, spiraling down. Looking closer, D’artagnan could have sworn the colored swirls turned into a man and a woman intimately entwined. He took a sip, surprised at the heat of the chilled alcohol, then felt euphoria wash over him in a gentle wave. Taking another sip, he turned to watch the dancers moving to the rhythm of the music. No sooner had he put down his empty glass than it was replaced by another, and as he drank it down, the room took on a shimmering glow, the figures all lit in a golden haze. D’artagnan’s eyes roamed over the beautiful female bodies as they swayed tantalizingly out of reach of the male fingers wanting desperately to touch them. He was finishing his third Heart Mender when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Luca,” Athos said, leaning in so his friend could hear him, “we got you that private dance. Follow us.”

D’artagnan got out of his seat, stumbling a little, but Athos was right there, catching him and guiding him down the hallway toward the private rooms in the back.

“We picked a good one for you,” Aramis said as he unlocked the door to usher them inside. “Her name is Desiree.”

The room was dimly lit but had the same golden glow as the main area. His friends led him over to a chair in front of a small stage, sitting him down before quickly leaving the room. D’artagnan’s attention was diverted from the slamming door to the click of high heels across the stage. A very voluptuous blonde in a schoolgirl uniform, her platinum tresses in a sleek bob, walked over to her mark and waited. As the syncopated drumbeat of Beyonce’s “Partition” began, she moved down the steps in time with the rhythm to stand in front of him. D’artagnan wasn’t sure if it was the drinks, but he could’ve sworn he recognized her face, he just couldn’t remember from where.

_Driver, roll up the partition, please._

On the first line, Desiree reached under her skirt and pulled her panties down her long legs to the floor. On the next line, she stepped around wide to face away from him, bending forward to touch the ground, popping her hips to fling the skirt up so D’artagnan had a perfect view of her completely bare cunt. His nostrils flared as he caught her scent, and he couldn’t stop the heat rushing to his lower body even if he tried. 

Standing back up, she moved to straddle his leg, her body undulating in time with the music. As her hips swayed, her hands came up to untie the front of her white shirt, revealing the black lace bra underneath, her large breasts perilously close to spilling out of the cups as she tossed the garment aside. Stepping again, she was between his legs, her hands on his knees to hold them apart while she rubbed her bottom against his groin. D’artagnan could feel himself growing hard as she worked her ass back and forth on his dick, very much aware that only the thin fabric of her skirt and his track pants stood between them being skin on skin. Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, she moved to straddle his other leg, her hands coming up this time to undo the front clasp of the bra, revealing her ample breasts, the peaks concealed with apple-shaped pasties. Desiree tossed it aside and moved away from him, dancing seductively. He was very much aware of his dick standing at full attention as he watched her, a wet spot starting to form on the tented front of his pants. With a twirl, Desiree sent her skirt flying to join her shirt on the floor, so she was only clad in pasties, thigh high stockings and heels, her pale golden skin shimmering under the lights.

Returning to where he was, she bent forward, her pendulous breasts swaying as her hands gripped his shoulders, placing her full lips next to his ear.

“Pull your pants down,” she told him, her voice low and husky.

“Why?” he asked, even as his erection throbbed with anticipation.

“Because,” she said, placing a heeled foot on his thigh, again fully revealing her sex to him. “I’m wet, and I’m horny, and I want your big dick.” With that she put her hand between her legs, then brought a glistening finger to his lips, letting him taste her intimate juices.

D’artagnan’s lips closed around her fingers, tasting her sweet nectar. He sucked it off, letting it run down his throat. His hands went to the waistband of his pants at the same time as he lifted himself slightly off the chair, sliding them down to his ankles in one fluid motion. His dick sprang up, fully engorged with the tip shining from the pre-cum that had flowed out from Desiree’s dancing. 

Desiree’s eyes gleamed as she took in the state of his arousal. She turned so that she faced away from him, reaching between her legs to take his dick in a form grip, giving him a couple of pumps. Placing one hand on his knee, she guided him to her slit, rubbing the tip against the opening to coat him with her moisture.

“Ahh,” she sighed as she slid easily down the large pole between his legs. Keeping her grip on his knees, she used them as leverage to lift herself up and down again, moving her hips in a circle, moaning excitedly when he brushed her g-spot.

D’artagnan grabbed her breasts, pulling her back against him, groaning harshly in her ear as she continued grinding on him. Her pussy fit him perfectly, gliding over him like liquid silk, and he could feel her getting hotter, tighter, and wetter around his dick as she prepared to reach her climax. He moved his hand down her body, his finger parting her folds to find her clit. Pressing down hard, she went off like a rocket, crying out as she found her release. Pushing her forward, back into her starting position, he held her hips in an iron grip, slamming her back down on his shaft again and again. He fucked her brutally, knowing that she probably wouldn’t be able to walk when he’d finished with her, but not really caring about anything other than getting off inside the most perfect pussy he’d ever fucked. He was surprised that instead of hearing whimpers of pain, he heard Desiree finding a second orgasm. His hips jerked faster to push her over the edge, then his lips let out a primal groan as he joined her in the abyss.

The last thing D’artagnan thought as his cum flooded her pussy was that he’d never had an orgasm this amazing with Constance.


End file.
